


A Very Alternate First Meeting

by SophB_Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All In The Name Of Science, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Don't Try This At Home, Giant Test Tubes, Hospitals, John Watson is a Good Doctor, John is a Naughty Doctor, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27992106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophB_Holmes/pseuds/SophB_Holmes
Summary: In response to the Twitter thread asking people to not stick things up their arses and putting pressure on the NHS resources.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	A Very Alternate First Meeting

"Just take a seat over there, Mr Sigerson. A doctor will see you shortly" The tall man shot an embarrassed and uncomfortable look at the receptionist and rather gingerly walked away to stand in the corner of the waiting room. He was grudgingly impressed that she managed to keep a straight face. He'd heard that his predicament happened plenty so it was likely he wasn't her first. 

The room was busy and full of noise and unpleasant smells. People coughing, pressing dressings to injuries, holding sick bowls. He closed his eyes, praying that the doctor would arrive shortly and put him out of the various miseries from which he was currently suffering. Time passed and he settled into his mind palace, an ear at the ready to hear the assumed name and reorganised his files on the experiment he had been conducting when this unfortunate side-effect occurred. His name was called and twenty minutes later, he was back in the waiting room, having been through triage and then X-ray where he had had the mortifying experience of having student radiologists invited into the booth to witness their first of undoubtedly many variations of this condition. 

Twenty minutes, thirty, sixty. He was fed up of standing still now, his back starting to ache as well as various other places that had been abused by his inability to take safety precautions in the name of science. Finally, he opened his eyes when he heard his name called for a second time. 

"Mr Sigerson?" He turned to face the doctor and deductions at once flew through his mind. 

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The doctor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"How about you follow me, sir, and you can tell me what you've been up to and what you mean by that question." The patient nodded then slowly and very carefully followed the curious doctor out of the waiting area and into a consultation room. "Take a seat." This was said with a small smirk which Sigerson chose to ignore knowing full well it was deserved. 

"I'll stand, thank you. You have a military-style haircut and you can't help almost marching down the corridors. You stand at parade rest." The doctor laughed. 

"Right, that tells you I was in the army. Doesn't tell me how you arrived at that question but there's time for that. My turn. What on Earth have you been up to?" The patient raised an eyebrow at the way the question was phrased. 

"Do you always speak to your patients this way?" 

"Only the daft ones that ask strange questions."

"You're not in the army now and I am not one of your cadets." As he said this, he felt a surge of arousal at the thought of seeing the doctor in fatigues, ordering him about.

"But you wish you were, admit it." 

"Are you flirting with me?"

"No, that would be unprofessional. I'm merely making my own observations. Now, let's get started shall we. I'm John and I'm going to be helping you out today." He woke up the computer and scanned his badge to log on. A few mouse clicks later, and a black and white image of the patient's abdomen and pelvis appeared. The X-ray. "Right, Mr Sigerson, what have we here?" The patient rolled his eyes and felt himself blush as John's questioning gaze. 

"It is what it appears to be." The patient looked away awkwardly. 

"Well, it appears to be a giant test tube. Am I correct?" A brusque nod was the reply. "Are we talking boro or plastic here?" The patient looked at the doctor, intrigued by the question. "Well, it will tell us what tools to use to extract the object. Wouldn't want to add glass fragments into the mix as well now, would we?" The patient sighed.

"Plastic. I'm not an idiot." John raised an eyebrow. The patient rolled his eyes. "I'm not a total idiot." 

"Good to hear. So, tell me, was it just standing on the floor and you were naked and slipped and the rest is history..." The patient had never been so embarrassed in his life! He felt his cheeks flame hotter with each passing second. 

"If I wanted judgement, I'd have contacted my brother and asked for his private health providers. I thought I was safe with the NHS." He huffed. "And no. It was an experiment."

"That's generally what test-tubes are used for. Though not usually in this manner. Where did you find one that size?" 

"Why? Fancy an experiment yourself?" The doctor laughed. 

"Not in this manner, no. So, let's take a look and see what we can do to make you more comfortable until we can organise an extraction. Change into this and lay on the bed, please. I'll be back in a few minutes and I'll knock before entering." 

He left the room and the patient changed from his suit into the super-unflattering hospital gown worn thin from so many hot-washes. He tied it best he could and contrived to lay on the bed with the least discomfort he could manage. A knock came a few minutes later and John returned, smiling. 

"Right then. Let's take a look. So, Afghanistan. How did you know?" He started the examination and the patient closed his eyes wishing he could be almost literally anywhere else at this second. 

"Soldier. Your left arm is stiffer than your right suggesting an injury of some kind. Tan lines to the wrist and collar but no further suggesting it wasn't a holiday as you stayed fully dressed for the most part. Hot country. Conflict. Afghanistan or Iraq." The patient finished through gritted teeth as he felt the probing, gloved up fingers begin their exploration. It wasn't in pain that he grimaced, it was to try and stop the images of the man behind him wearing his dog-tags, getting him ready for something more romantic rather than more intimate. It couldn't get much more intimate than it already was. He could feel his body stirring with the thoughts that were rushing through his mind. 

"That was amazing!" The patient couldn't help but agree but for a different reason. "Right, it's going to need sedation. Propofol to relax everything so I can get to the giant test tube you have inside you and extract it. Any questions?" He snapped off the gloves and put them in the bin, turning his back to give the patient a modicum of privacy to recover and arrange himself comfortably. 

"You were shot." John turned to look at his patient. 

"Not the type of question I was expecting. Not really even a question. But, yes. I was. In the shoulder. Sniper." He washed his hands in the sink, methodically soaping up and rinsing each finger and part of his palm and wrist.

"Brachial nerve damage?" 

"Not too bad. Mainly scar tissue from infection. I was laid out on the sand for a few hours before anyone found my unit. Not something I wish to remember so it's my turn now." The doctor turned and looked at his patient as he dried his hands. "What kind of experiment requires the insertion of a giant, plastic test tube into your rectum?" He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the possible answers he might receive.

"It was to answer a question that was necessary to prove a man's guilt in a murder inquiry." John looked very surprised. 

"That was the last answer I would have expected. Okay then, you don't look like a policeman and I doubt one would go to such extreme lengths..."

"I'm a consulting detective."

"A what? Never heard of one."

"You won't have. I made up the job title. I'm the only one in the world." 

"Right. And the Police actually ask for your help? I didn't think they used amateurs." The patient made a sound of exasperation and rolled his eyes. 

"Really, Doctor. I could tell your history from a glance. Give me your phone and I'll be able to tell you more." 

"My phone?" 

"Yup." He popped the 'p' and John couldn't help but smile. 

"Fine. Here." He handed the patient his phone, curious about what he could possibly do with and inwardly cursing himself for a) actually having his bloody phone in his pocket and b) giving it to a total stranger who had inserted random foreign objects up himself with the excuse of 'science'. For all John knew, he could be some weird pervert with a doctor or even a soldier kink who was going to hunt him down afterwards. 

"You don't have much close family. No parents left. This phone was a gift but it wasn't bought for you. It was bought for your brother as a Christmas present from his wife, Clara. Marriage is obviously on the rocks if he's given it away so soon after receiving it. This phone is six months old at that most. You're not close to your brother though. Maybe it's because he's left his wife, maybe you fancied the wife. Most likely, it's because he's an alcoholic. Your brother wanted you to keep in touch with you but not his ex-wife. He left her. Other way around and he would have kept the phone. Sentiment." He looked up the doctor who was staring dumbfounded. 

"Wow! That was brilliant!" The doctor beamed as he took the phone back off the man in the bed.

"You think so?"

"Absolutely! That's a gift."

"That's not what people normally say." The patient looked shy and sad. "They usually tell me to piss off." John laughed.

"Well then, they're idiots." The patient looked up and smiled. 

"My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." 

"Yeah, didn't need to be a consulting detective to know that your name wasn't really Scott Sigerson." Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question. "When I called your name, you looked around for someone else first. Been watching who got called in before you, huh?" Sherlock chuckled. "Well, giant test-tubes stuck up your arse aren't considered that serious medically. Plus, we all like to have a laugh at the x-rays." The smile disappeared and the patient flushed beet red again. "Don't worry. I'll keep these ones to myself. Seeing as it was for science, not for some weird masturbatory fantasy." The doctor winked and walked over to the computer to schedule the procedure. 

\-- 

Two hours later, Sherlock was slowly waking up properly from the sedation, a grinning Doctor John next to him. 

"All done. Very straight forward." Sherlock nodded slowly and blinked to try and clear his vision. 

"Not normally waited on by a doctor." 

"Yeah, well, my shift ended just after your surgery so I thought I'd wait for you to come round. Feeling okay?"

"M'okay." John chuckled. 

"You've taken a while to wake up. Didn't realise I'd knocked you out so much!"

"M've a tolerance to sedatives. Need high dose to work." 

"Yeah, the anaesthetist did say you took some putting down. Why's that?" Sherlock held out his arm to let John inspect the scars that littered his forearms. "Ah. Clean now?" Sherlock nodded slowly. "Good. I won't hold a misspent youth against you. Got anyone to pick you up?" 

"Get a cab." 

"Right. Well, I'm free with no plans so I'll take you home. Just as soon as you've come around fully, we'll get you out of here and home. How does that sound?"

"Why?"

"Why do you need someone with you?"

"No, why do you care? About me?" Sherlock was starting to feel more alert, the fog clearing in his mind quickly now. 

"I find you interesting. Plus, I want to ask you some questions. Like how you could tell all that about my from my phone and what sort of case requires giant test tubes." Sherlock smiled. 

"Did I get anything wrong?" At John's confused expression, he elaborated. "About the phone. Obviously, everything about the test tube was wrong but my deduction of your history. All correct?"

"I don't have my parents anymore. I have one sibling who was married to Clara and who is now getting divorced because of a drink problem. But, Harry is short for Harriet." John grinned mischievously.

"Sister! There's always something."

"Well, you were a little preoccupied at the time." John smiled at Sherlock. "Let's get your paperwork ready and see if we can get you out of here." The doctor walked over to the door before turning once more. "Dinner?"

"Sorry? What?" Sherlock looked up confused by the non sequitur. 

"Dinner? I'm starving and you will be soon. Dinner?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" John thought about it.

"Well, I think I've gotten to know you pretty well, inside and out, today and yes. I suppose I am."

"Isn't that a bit unprofessional?" 

"Perhaps. Problem?" Sherlock thought for a moment. 

"I know an excellent Chinese takeaway that's on the way to my flat. They do excellent dim sum." He finished with a smile. 

"Perfect. Get dressed. I'll be back with that paperwork in a few." As the door closed, Sherlock smiled and imagined a future with someone like John in it. He made a mental note to write a thank you letter to the manufacturer of the giant test-tube. He had a feeling that he was going to owe them a lot after today. 


End file.
